Trekking through Ladakh -the Diary of a procrastinator: Day 9
Waking up to a bright sunny day with my tent surrounded by verdant grass seemed surreal after a night of non-stop snowfall. The only evidence of nature’s nocturnal activity was the generous sprinkling of snow on the hills surrounding the camp-site – hills that had been barren until last evening.
The day began with mixed emotions. Today was the last day of my trek. We’d be climbing one more pass -the Yalung Nyau La, which would be the highest one yet for me at 5450m. However, Tashi assured me that despite the altitude, it would be much easier to navigate compared to yesterday’s torturous passes. I tried to believe him even as I mentally prepared myself for the worst.
Talking about preparing for the worst, that’s something I do all the time. In fact, the first thing I do before starting off on any new venture or task is to think about the worst case scenario and prepare myself and my family for it. Hubby dear thinks that’s pessimism and I think it’s realism – so you now know the reason for most of our fights!
Well, coming back to the mixed emotions, I was told that Namgyal, our horseman, would be not be accompanying us for the rest or the trek -of which only one more day remained. I don’t remember the exact reason for his decision to leave, but it could be that there was hardly any fresh grass for the horses along the route. Of course, it wasn’t that he was leaving us high and dry -he’s far too professional for that. I discovered over breakfast that another horseman, heading towards Korzok, the final destination of our trek, had camped across the stream last night and Namgyal had arranged for his horses to carry all our supplies for the day. So, after breakfast, we watched with a heavy heart as Namgyal packed his stuff and got the horses ready to leave. We then took a quick photo of us all -well, all except George who, for some reason, did not want to be photographed- before Namgyal set off on his journey back home. I stood watching for a while as he crossed over the stream and disappeared behind a far bend in the trail along with the horses.
Before starting on the day’s leg of the trek, I surveyed the terrain in the general direction of our trek and promised myself to enjoy this last day come what may. The weather was pleasant and the blue sky had already attracted a slew of mammoth clouds. Climbing a small hill, I could see the gentle slopes of several other hills coming together in a criss-cross manner to form a herringbone trail for us to follow, alongside a gurgling stream.
After walking for half an hour or so, we left the stream behind and took a turn and lo! the terrain changed drastically, without warning. For the next few hours, we walked through what would seem like a pile of stones and small rocks dumped on the ground by a garbage van. The slope wasn’t as bad as the ones I encountered the previous day, but the stones made it difficult to trek on.
Even in this bizzare terrain, someone had taken the effort of piling up stones to make a ‘lata’ (a simulation of the stupa) to propitiate the spirit of the mountains to ensure a safe journey – a hint that this strange route was not all that desolate. This was made more obvious as I trekked on and reached the top of the pass to find a larger pile of stones supporting several strings of prayer flags. Many of these stone slabs had the names of couples etched on them; it made me wonder about the strange urge people have to leave behind evidence of their visit everywhere they went.
While what lay before me was acceptable since it did not defile anything, it reminded me of this horrendous sight from my visit to the Thanjavur Durbar Hall few years ago. I hope all those who took the pains to etch out their names on the historical monument did end up with each other, leading a life filled with love, else this disgrace would all be in vain.
Coming back to my journey, I could spot the Tso-moriri from where I stood and that was motivating enough to continue walking towards my destination. Little did I know that the notion of distances can be deceptive when standing atop a mountain and that it would take me more than three long and arduous hours to just get down to the plains, leave alone reach the campsite at Korzok. The descent down the Yalung Nyau La was several times more difficult than the climb, what with me trying hard not to slip down the narrow trail on a gravelly slope. To makes things worse, the slope along the descent was as steep as the ascent was gentle.
Every once in a while, I was offered a breathtaking glimpse of Tso-moriri, as if to reassure me, but once I was more than half-way down, even that view disappeared and there was nothing but sand and rubble to look forward to. Once down on the plains, I realized that as usual, I was trailing behind the others by quite some distance. Tashi was just a speck on the horizon far head of me. With my limbs groaning in protest, a feeling of defeat crept into me, but I reminded myself of my promise to stay upbeat. So, I trudged ahead, trying to distract myself with the sights surrounding me. A settlement along a stream soon materialized, bringing with it a cheerful green almost as a relief to the stark browns and blacks of the landscape I’d traversed until now. I could see tiny houses and hoped the campsite would be somewhere close by. However, it was not so. I passed the green patch, the stream, the wild asses, the yaks and the houses with a look of yearning I’m sure I’ve not sent even my husband’s way in all these years.
After what seemed to be at least three more hours, I finally hit a tar road that took me along a curve and revealed the welcoming sight of our blue tent. Oh, how relieved I was to have reached the campsite! Crossing a small metal platform, I reached my tent and kicked open my shoes for the last time. This was it! 
George was already there, taking bath in the cold waters of the stream. Much as I was tempted to do the same, I decided to just wash my face and change clothes. I’d sustained on only liquids -fruit juices and electral- these last eight hours and was desperate to dig into some tasty food. And boy, was I in for a surprise as I entered the dining tent!
Siddharth had baked this cake (in an aluminum vessel!), with frosting and all, to celebrate the completion of my trek! What an amazing way to conclude a seemingly never-ending day on the slopes . . .
Two passes awaited me today and although skeptical about my stamina, I was ready for the test. Having camped last evening at the foot of the first pass to be climbed -the Kyamayuri La at a height of 5350m above sea level – it was obviously going to be an uphill task today. So I packed my stuff and set off in earnest, taking in the sight of the nomads heading out with their herds.
The climb started off well, with the slope being gentle under my feet. I took in the mountains towering over me on one side and a stringy rivulet snaking through the terrain on the other. But it soon started to get tougher. As the slope grew steeper and the air thinner, I found it more and more difficult to take every next step. Less than an hour into the trek, I was on the verge of accepting defeat. It was so tough, I found myself taking a five minute break after every ten steps. When I got half-way up, I turned back and looked at a swarm of sheep closing in on me. On the adjacent hill, sheep dogs were running up and down the much steeper slopes as though they were flatter than my flat feet! 
To rub salt into the wound, all the other guys in my team and the French team trekked past me with what seemed like considerable ease. In my frustration, I put it down to my being the oldest among them all (which was true!), but in my heart I knew it had nothing to do with my age – I was just not fit enough! My months of training before the trek stood me in good stance on the plains, but the passes were something else!
I guess the lost-and-found adventure of the day before yesterday had made Tashi realize that he couldn’t afford to lose sight of me again and consequently, I found him waiting for me at the top. I was glad he did and as we started our descent, we exchanged a bit of info about ourselves. I got to know that he was a student at a college in Jammu and joined trekkers as a guide during vacation time. He also had a girlfriend -Sonam- back home and planned to visit her once this trek was completed. I too shared some tit-bits from my life with him and sparse with words that I am, I was soon out of things to talk about by the time we had descended into the Gyama Barma valley and walked to the foot of the next pass.
Through the route, the ground had a hint of fresh green on it thanks to the grass and patches of these soft moss-like growth. I found out later that these are known botanically as the Thylacospermum caespitosum. Their almost cushion-like form helps trap heat around the crucial growing parts and thus helps cope with not only very low temperatures but also limited soil and water.
After a good amount of rest and something to munch on, we started climbing the next pass – the Kartse La at 5300m. As I took my first few steps up the dark, blackish slope of the mountain, I could already spot the rest of the team approaching the top. At that moment, a voice in my head screamed, ‘What will they think of you? Slow-coach!’ Given the physical and psychological toll the first pass had taken on me, it was easy to slip into a negative frame of mind and I was soon wondering if I had it in me to attempt yet another steep climb.
After lingering for a while, I started my descent feeling like a zombie; but I was happy that the worst (at least for today!) was now behind me. Albeit with poor grades, I had passed the ‘pass’ test! All that remained now was to get to the camp-site in one piece. Tashi had been really patient until now – although it must’ve been frustrating for a sprightly 21-year-old, he had slowed his pace considerably so I could remain within his cone of vision. Hoping to relieve his agony, I asked him to explain the route to me and get ahead if he wanted to . . . which he readily did.
Alone amidst the mountains once again, I took my time ambling through the desolate valley – passing a rather lean stream, crossing an arid, stony expanse and finally arriving at another slightly broader stream where I saw his beautiful golden-maned dog, almost blending into the terrain. The French team had set up camp not too far from here, but my blue dining tent was nowhere to be seen. 
Letting out a curse, I trudged along for half an hour more before I spotted the tent. However, it was on the other side of the stream, which meant I had to walk some more before arriving at a spot from where I could cross over easily. I’m so not joking when I say I let out a slew of curses at this point! It seemed like the universe was conspiring to keep me away from the comfort of my little green tent!!
So no prizes for guessing that as soon as I reached the camp site, I kicked off my shoes and ran into my tent as if to greet a long-lost friend. And no sooner than I’d started to rummage though the back-pack for my book to read with the hot juice Siddharth was preparing, the sky turned grey again and it started to snow! It seemed as though the snow had been patiently waiting for me to make it to the camp before showering down. If that were so, I must give it a nod of appreciation ‘coz I don’t think I could have completed the day’s trek had it snowed earlier. That would definitely have been the proverbial last straw in my case!
At first, the sharp pitter-patter made me believe it was raining, not snowing; but I soon realized it was otherwise. Popping my head out of the tent, I was hit by these small thermocol-ball sized flakes of snow that also stole inside the tent through the edges.
With the snow busying itself with rendering the entire landscape white, I finished my dinner at a leisurely pace and prepared myself for a good night’s sleep. But sleep did not come easily. Lying on my mattress, with the sound of snowflakes knocking on my tent providing a soothing background score, I was acutely aware of every bone and muscle in my body even as my mind replayed the entire 8 hours of the day’s trek. Today’s was the toughest challenge I’d ever faced and although I was glad to put it all behind me, I also felt that this was one experience I’d miss more than anything else when I got back to the humdrum of everyday life.
As we walked, George filled me in on the previous half of his trek and gave me tips on tackling tiredness, the most important one being not to ever sit down to rest -that would make it several times harder to get back to trekking. An ideal scenario would be to just place one’s bag and trekking pole down and stand for a while before resuming. I followed his advice . . .for a while. But somewhere around 10kms into the trek, I was itching to park my bums somewhere. That’s also when a stream materialized out of nowhere, giving me a pretext to take a break. So I removed my shoes and sat on a rock with my tired feet dipped in the cool waters. Wow . . . was that Bliss or what!
When we resumed our trek after the unplanned indulgence, I noticed that the terrain had completely changed. We now had rows of reddish-brown rocky/sandy hills on one side while the plains stretched for miles on the other. 
That’s when I also came across the first bit promised by the trek description – 
Tashi and gang had caught up with us by now and even overtaken us. They would reach the next camp site and set up the dining tent well in advance so we could have something to eat as soon as we reached. As we continued trekking, the sun moved to the top of our heads and was shining rather brightly, even as cold winds blew mercilessly. It reminded me of the folk-tale where the Sun and the Wind quarrel over who is mightier and the matter is settled when the heat from the Sun forces a farmer to remove all his clothes. The terrain also changed subtly, with the mountains closing in on my right, wearing different colors -light orange, red, turquoise blue . . .and of course black. They weren’t close enough to figure out what gave them these colors but few days later, I realized that every mountain in the region was covered with a different type of stone and it was the chemical composition of these stones that gave them the unique colors. I even saw a beautiful purple mountain later that seemed like an illusion but was in fact very real!
We’d covered over 15kms in 5 hours by now and I guess tiredness was starting to show on my face. So George, a seasoned trekker, decided to give me a pep talk. He said every trekker has to undergo the 
After the short break, we were on the road once again and soon reached the detour that would lead us into the Kharnak valley and to Dat. Two things caught my eye here: 1. the signboard that gave a census report of the Pashmina goats in the valley and 2. the memorial to a martyred Jawan hailing from the region.
As we continued our drive on the non-existent road through the valley, I was getting more and more eager to reach the camp site. However, when, after hours of driving we were still nowhere near Dat, I turned to Stanzin with a questioning look. Imagine my surprise when he revealed that he’d never been to this part of Ladakh before! Add to that, there was no cell phone network through which to contact George, no internet connection to check an online map and not a soul around to ask for directions! Yet, for some reason, I did not get perturbed – maybe I had faith in Stanzin’s mountain instincts? So, I continued enjoying the drive, certain that we’d find our destination. Sure enough, after one more hour of driving over some passes and through the valley, we finally reached Dat.
Disembarking from the vehicle, I followed Stanzin inside where he introduced me to the crew: Tashi, a 21-year-old college-going lad was the guide, Siddhartha, a young Nepali cook, Namgyal, the horseman with five beautiful horses and finally there was George, my trekking companion. Thanks to my sub-conscious stereotyping and no thanks to Stanzin who never really clarified who George was (actually, I too didn’t bother asking him…), I’d imagined him to be a foreigner. It so turned out the George was/is a true blue Keralite and a charming one at that! 
The air was starting to turn chilly around us by the time I’d set up my tent with help from Stanzin and Tashi. So we all gathered back in the dining tent where the fire, the delicious food whisked up by Siddhartha and the conversation kept us warm. We chatted into the night, exchanging notes from the adventurous day and getting to know each other better and when I finally returned to my tent, I couldn’t wait for it to be morning again so I could start my trek.
Well, that brings me to the end of Day 3 in Ladakh. See you all on the other side of the night with more adventure and some bit of self-realization . . .
The Crooked Pencil 